


Healing Viggo

by nverland



Category: Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nverland/pseuds/nverland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Viggo turns to the only person who can purge his demons.<br/>This story involves physical punishment in several chapters.</p>
<p>Originally posted at livejournal in 2007-2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1-Penitence

Title: Penitence  
Author: Carol (Nverland)  
Rating: NC17  
Pairing: Viggo/OFC  
Disclaimer: This is fiction, meant to harm no one, for entertainment only.  
Warnings: Hurt/comfort?  
Beta: The wonderful ~N  
Word Count: 1271  
Archiving: No archiving without permission. 

 

He stands stock still in the center of the room, his clothing removed and neatly folded, lying on the chair in the corner, the only furniture in the room. He stares straight forward, hands clasped behind his back, feet spread shoulder width, thong secured around his sex, and waits. The room, the basement actually, is lit by a single uncovered bulb hanging from the ceiling a few feet away. It’s cool, but dry, however he doesn’t notice. His full attention is to listening, waiting for her to arrive. 

She steps into the room, deliberately ignoring him, the swish of her gown the only sound as it scrapes across the bare concrete floor. Closing the door, she takes a deep breath, preparing for what she’s about to do. 

Turning, she looks him up and down, noting his stance, where he’s chosen to stand, how careful he’s been with his clothing. He doesn’t meet her eyes, staring at the wall in front of him. She slowly walks around him, inspecting, noting how a small muscle in one thigh twitches slightly as she passes behind him, the slight clench of a jaw muscle as he grits down with his teeth in anticipation. As she passes in front of him she lifts her hand, the empty one, towards his chest, stopping just short of actually touching him, hand hovering over his heart before lowering it back to her side and moving behind him once more. 

“Hands up, grasp the bar,” she orders, and he obeys instantly, gripping the wooden pole between two floor supports. 

She waits, not wanting him to know when or where the first strike will be, but also setting her nerves to the task at hand. She waits, letting the tension build until that thigh muscle twitches again and raises her hand, lifting the black leather flogger to shoulder height and bringing it forward, lashing it across the center of his back and watching as he tries to control the flinch away from it, tries to maintain the rigid stance that he knows is required. 

She doesn’t give him time to readjust, wanting him slightly off balance, not prepared. She pulls her arm back and slashes the strips of leather across his back in a cross pattern, watching as the skin reddens slightly, striking again across his buttock, then the other, anticipating his reactions and yet giving him no time to react. With the next strike, the one across his thighs, she starts talking, vilifying him, her lashings coinciding with words of hurt and venom. And still he stands there, every muscle tensed to stay still, to not move, to not react to the words and the stinging pain that she’s inflicting, both to his body and his mind. 

As she works her way around his body, striking in a pattern that appears random, but not to her, words meant to strip him as much as the lashing spew forth, breaking him with each utterance and blow. She comes to stand in front of him, noting the silent tears on the edges of his lashes unspilled yet, and his sex jutting from between his legs, darkened and aroused. She slaps the leather straps up across his balls, lighter but still stinging, ridiculing him for his weakness, his need, striping his thighs, his belly, his chest, waiting for him to break, to beg for release. 

As the first strike on his sack hits, he gasps, then berates himself for his weakness. But even as he’s attempting to control his reactions, he’s getting harder and harder, his need for release now almost as strong as his need to be purged. He stiffens, setting his jaw, tightening muscles, willing himself to take whatever she needs to give him, to accept the pain, to not show the weakness he knows he holds inside. 

She continues, moving from one side of his body to another, her arm aching but unable to stop until he surrenders, until he can drop the façade he’s trying so desperately to maintain. As she returns to stand in front of him she sees that he’s finally released the tears he’s been trying so hard to hold back, that his defenses are cracked. She was starting to worry; the red tinge to his flesh has given way to welts scattered here and there this time, more pain, more to let go. 

She slashes across his sex again, lighter, just enough to make him flinch, jump slightly, and listens to the stifled moan that he can no longer control. She backhands the straps across his chest, grazing his nipples, watching as he again jerks at the contact, knowing that it won’t be long now, only a few more. 

As she strikes his chest, raising a welt across the edge of a too thin rib, he finally breaks. Babbling, pleading for release and for absolution from his own perceived sins. She waits, waiting to hear that last crack in his voice, the one that tells her he’s truly had enough, that he’s ready to be freed. She reaches down, and grasps the end of the cord tethering him and pulls, releasing him at the same time she commands “come” and he does, head thrown back and a primal scream echoing from the concrete walls as his cock splatters thick jets of his release across the floor and splashing at the hem of her dress. 

He sags, fingers still white and gripping the bar above him, not yet released to let go, to rest at last, heart pounding and gasping for air. She drops the flogger, reaching to touch him for the first time since entering the room, to run her hands up his arms and touch his hands. “Let go,” she tells him, and he does, crumpling to the floor in a sobbing heap. She kneels, gathering him into her arms and cradling him, holding him as he buries his face in her breast, running hands over his abused body, murmuring soothing sounds, until he starts to relax, to calm. 

Rising from the cold floor, she pulls him up, supporting him as she leads him upstairs to their bedroom, helping him to lie down on the fresh sheets. She gathers soft, warm, damp cloths and wipes the sweat and semen from his skin, talking to him in a low calm voice as she applies a sweet smelling balm to the welts that have risen here and there in the spots over-worked, hit too hard. Gathering her supplies up, she puts them away, returning to the bed to remove the long gown she’s worn and slipping into the bed next to him, letting him curl around her, his head resting on her chest as she wraps him safely into her arms again. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs against her as he drifts off to sleep at last, the final vestiges of his purging fading away. She shushes him, whispering into his hair, where her face is buried now, that things will be all right, to sleep, to rest. And as she feels him relax and drift away she wonders, how many more times will she need to do this before he can stop blaming himself for the sins of his roles, and who will be there to release her from her own sin of setting him free.

 

~tbc


	2. 2-Release

Title: Release  
Author: Carol (Nverland)   
Rating: NC17   
Pairing: Viggo/OFC   
Disclaimer: This is fiction, meant to harm no one, for entertainment only.   
Word Count: 1265  
Warnings: Hurt/comfort?   
Beta: The wonderful ~N~   
Archiving: No archiving without permission. 

 

She walked into the dimly lit house, tired and lonely. It’d been a long time since anyone else had been there with her; mostly it was just her and her cat. 

Taking off her jacket, she hung it in the hall closet without turning on any lights yet. Plenty of time for that when she got to the kitchen. Hard to fix dinner in the dark. 

Stepping into the kitchen she flipped on the lights, not really looking around, because what would be different? And yet something seemed different tonight. Like no cat. Normally the thing was tripping her up and begging for food first thing, and yet tonight it wasn’t. When she noticed she started to look for her, and found her sitting on the ledge, next to a partly full dish of food. Turning, she saw the coat hung on the hook by the back door, and the pair of boots sitting on the floor below it. 

‘So he’s here,’ she realized. 

She knew not to look through the rest of the house. He wasn’t going to be upstairs. 

Carefully opening the cellar stairs, she started down, holding her skirts with one hand in order to see the way. As she hit the small landing space, she noticed the lights were on, took a calming breath, and continued to the bottom. 

When she stepped onto the cold concrete floor there he was, kneeling. Or partially kneeling, anyway, with only one knee on the floor, the other leg bent and his foot resting under him. His head was bowed and he didn’t make a move that she could notice. Without saying anything she walked a circle around him, noticing that even with new muscle on him he was still too thin. 

Stopping in front of him, knowing he was overly aware of where she was at any moment, she demanded, “What are you doing here, boy? How long have you been waiting?” 

“Not long, Ma’am. Waiting for you, Ma’am,” he answered in a low voice, head never lifting. 

“Waiting on me for what?” she asked, knowing why he was here, why he ever was here. 

Lifting his face momentarily to look at her, he answered in the same low voice, “For you to fix me,” and then lowered his eyes back to watching the floor. 

Nodding, she wasn’t quite done asking questions. “Why are you not in position, then? Why are you kneeling like that?” 

“I slipped, Ma’am, and twisted my knee. I can’t hold any pressure on it,” he answered as he started to move the leg underneath him. 

“No, stay like that. How you kneel tonight won’t matter.” 

She circled him once, twice more, taking in his posture, breathing, the light sheen of sweat on his bare skin, before walking to the cabinet where she kept her implements of correction. She ran her hand caressingly over the flogger, the soft leather strips whispering against her skin, but tonight that didn’t feel right, not like what he needed – wanted. Neither did the hardwood paddle; he’d need to be able to support himself for that, and obviously he couldn’t. Finally her hand wrapped around the handle of her crop. Lifting it, stroking it lovingly, she patted the palm of her other hand with it, weighing the choice. Nodding, she turned back to the kneeling man. 

Running the end up his spine, she watched as he tried to control a shiver. 

“I want you up, spread across the table. Can you do that?” she asked, almost hoping he would say no and she wouldn’t have to carry on. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered in a low voice. 

Lifting himself from the floor carefully and limping the few feet to the wooden table near the center of the room, he leaned over the bare top, arranging his swelling cock to lie underneath him and grasping the opposite side of the top with a firm grip. 

She stood and watched, waiting until he’d settled himself before stepping to the table herself. She noted the way he clung to the edge, the way his body pushed up slightly waiting for the first crack of whatever she had planned for him, the not quite audible puffs of his breath as he waited. 

Stepping slightly away, she took a calming breath before raising her arm and laying the first strip across his buttocks. She watched as his body flinched at the sudden pain, heard the sudden intake of breath between clenched teeth, before placing a matching mark a few inches lower. Pausing for moments between each blow, she cracked the crop across his back, thighs, shoulders, buttocks, all the time tearing him apart verbally. 

At first he fought the pain, both physical and mental, steeling himself to not break down this time, to stay strong and not let her pull his secrets from him. But slowly he started to crack: first with barely heard whimpers; louder as his muscles started to flinch away from the relentless thrashing; and finally his shell cracked, babbling brokenly, confessing all his real and imagined sins, and begging for forgiveness. 

She dropped the crop and leaned over him, hushing him softly and prying his fingers from the edge of the table. He turned, shifting gingerly onto his abused bottom, and wrapped his arms around her while she held him, soaking the front of her dress with his tears. 

When he’d calmed enough she helped him to stand, allowing him to lean on her as they went slowly up the stairs and on to her room. Settling him face down on the bed she went to the bath and gathered what she needed – warm washcloths, towel, antiseptic lotion, and bandaging. 

Returning to the bedroom, she watched as he lay there slowly moving against the coarse cotton sheets, before placing her handfuls on the bedside table and wiping him gently with a cloth, removing sweat and small spots of blood where the skin had cracked. Once clean she applied a generous coat of the lotion to the welts littering his skin then urged him to roll over. Using a fresh cloth she wiped his face and body clean, still talking softly to him as she worked. 

As she moved lower she couldn’t ignore the obvious erection, dark and dripping, that lay heavily against his abdomen, twitching when her hand moved closer. Wiping the tops of his thighs, the creases at the tops of his legs, she finally ran the now cool cloth the length of his shaft, wrapping it loosely in the damp cotton. He thrust up into the tunnel she made, once ... twice, and came with a shuddering breath. 

She caressed him gently as the last shudders of his release passed before cleaning him and tucking him in bed. He was softly snoring before she finished picking things up and placing them back in the bathroom cabinets. 

Removing her own clothing, dropping them on the floor to be put away in the morning, she slipped under the sheets next to him, letting him roll into her arms and bury his face in her chest. And wondering as he slept on while sleep eluded her, when would this all end and they could both find the peace and forgiveness they desperately yearned for. 

~tbc


	3. 3-Comfort

Title: Comfort  
Author: Carol (Nverland)  
Rating: NC17  
Pairing: Viggo/OFC  
Disclaimer: This is fiction, meant to harm no one, for entertainment only.  
Word Count: 1123  
Warnings: Hurt/comfort?  
Beta: The wonderful ~N~  
Archiving: No archiving without permission. 

 

She came home to an empty house, just like most every night. It had been a long time since she’d seen him. Maybe that meant he was doing better, maybe that he’d found somewhere - someone else to heal him. But today, with the snow and dark so early, and a long day, it just seemed emptier and lonelier than it probably should. After all, it wasn’t like this wasn’t how she lived every day, just her and her cat. 

Flipping on the kitchen light, she was met by her small bundle of fur rubbing against her leg, begging for attention. She scooped the cat up and stepped further into the room, intending to fill the food bowl before starting her own dinner. What she found made her stop, though, and listen for any other sounds in the old house. There were none. However, hanging off the back of a chair was his old battered jacket. So he had to be here somewhere. 

‘Please, God, don’t let him be downstairs this time,’ she silently prayed as she headed for the basement door. 

But the lights down there were out, and a trip to the bottom showed the room was empty. A search of the rest of the house failed to find him either. Wherever he was, it wasn’t there. 

She spent the evening doing the everyday housework, wondering where he was, and finally giving up and going to bed. Not that she could sleep. 

Lying there in the dark, drowsing but not really sleeping, she heard her door carefully open, then felt the bed dip behind her, a cold body snuggle against her back, a strong arm draping around her waist. Snuggling back, she sighed. This wasn’t something they had done in a long time, not that he’d been there to do anything with for a long time. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured against her hair. 

“You didn’t,” she answered as quietly. 

He pulled her tighter against him, holding her pressed to his chest, feeling her heart beating, the rise and fall of her chest as her breath quickened from his touch. 

She wriggled, loosening his hold, and rolled to face him, her hand rising to feather across his cheek before leaning forward to press a tentative kiss to his lips. As she started to pull back he pressed forward, capturing her lips, asking for and gaining entrance to her mouth, stealing her breath with the longing they both felt. 

Rolling her under him, he trailed kisses down her neck, pulling her gown down to reach her breasts, nibbling and sucking, pushing her desires and his own higher and higher. 

Gathering the bottom of the gown up with one hand, he pulled it higher, moving his mouth and hands across her exposed skin. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her back arching into his touch. As he came to her mound, her legs spread further, hips tilting up, begging for his touch. 

His hands slid lower, caressing the insides of her thighs, his breath ghosting across her most tender places. His hands slid higher, thumbs parting her damp folds, tongue flicking across her tight bud, being rewarded with the sounds of her moans. He slipped two long fingers into her as his mouth drove her to the brink. Suckling at her as his fingers twisted, just so, sent her spiraling over the edge, her release gasped as her body tightened in ecstasy. 

Slowly pulling his fingers from her, he dropped a final kiss and crawled up her body, again working to rekindle the desire in her that he still felt. Coming to rest fully atop her, he scattered kisses across her cheeks and eyes before taking her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging into the hot cavern and being chased back by hers. 

Slipping his hand between them, he guided himself to her entrance, pushing slowly in. Fully seated he stopped, trying to regain some control, wanting this little bit of pleasure to last for them both. 

Staring down into her eyes he began to slowly rock, grinding against her as he did, bringing her back to the peak with him. She gripped his arms, fingers digging into the hard muscle, legs twining with his. As his desire increased so did the force of his thrusts, she rising to meet him as they spun higher. As he felt himself losing the last of his control, he bent forward, kissing her with all the love swelling in his heart as his body tensed, flooding her with his release and taking her with him. 

Collapsing onto her heaving chest, they lay together panting until he rolled to her side, pulling her to him, and they drifted off. 

When they awoke later, with the cat curled on his hip sleeping, neither one wanted to say anything for fear of breaking the calm and peace in the room. But she knew, and so did he really, that they had to talk. 

“I love you,” she whispered, not wanting to break the spell. 

“I know,” he answered as quietly. 

“Why are you here? Why now?” she asked, turning to see his face. 

“Because I needed you, needed to see you,” he answered honestly. 

“And? This isn’t what we do anymore, I thought,” she asked, afraid of the answer, but needing to hear it. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if this were the end. 

“I know, and I’m sorry for what I do to you. But you’re the only person I can trust, the only one who can give me what I need to release me from my demons.” 

“So what’s different this time? Am I expected to get up in the morning and do that for you? Because I’m not sure I can anymore. I’m not sure I can take what it does to me, no matter how much I want to care for you.” 

“Because I quit. For now I quit. No more tearing myself to pieces and needing to be glued back together, no more demons. I know what I ask of you is hard, and it's not fair that I do. I don’t know that things will be different when I go back to working, but maybe I’ll be stronger then.” 

She nodded, knowing there was more. 

“And maybe we can try, together, to find a better way to release them,” he finished, hoping he wasn’t losing her. 

~tbc~


	4. 4-The Calm

Title: The Calm  
Author: Carol (nverland)   
Rating: NC17   
Pairing: Viggo/OFC   
Disclaimer: This is fiction, meant to harm no one, for entertainment only.   
Warnings: Hurt/comfort?   
Beta: The wonderful ~N   
Word Count: 1009   
Archiving: No archiving without permission. 

 

She’d just finished changing for bed and was on her way downstairs to lock up when she heard the key in the front door and it creaking open. Only one other person had a key to her door, but he’d been missing for months now.

Stepping to the bottom of the stairs just as he set down a small bag he was carrying, they stood looking at each other, unsure at first what to say.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, still worried what the answer would be.

“I needed you,” he answered, stepping forward to pull her into his arms, leaning forward to kiss her. 

Her fears slipping away, she wrapped herself around him. As they pulled apart, both smiling, she asked if he was hungry. “I can warm something up for you.”

“The only thing I’m hungry for is you,” he answered, burying his face in her neck.

Sliding his hands down her back, he cupped her bottom, lifting her and starting up the stairs while she wrapped her legs around his waist. Stepping into her dimly lit bedroom, he lowered her to the bed, pausing only long enough to remove his clothes before joining her.

She watched him, still amazed that he was back again, and not wanting anything more than to be with her. As he dropped first his shirt, then his slacks, her hands itched to touch him, to caress the hard tanned body she’d missed so much.

Crawling across the bed to lay beside her, his hands stroking across her breasts through her soft nightgown, he bent to kiss her. She wrapped her hand behind his neck, fingers burying in his hair, as he stole her breath.

Separating for need of air, their hands never stilled, touching gently, exploring. As his hands skimmed her throat, his lips followed, trailing kisses down the slender column. Coming to the edge of her gown, he slipped the thin straps from her shoulders, lowering the top to bare her breasts. Cupping a supple mound in his large hand, he grazed the nipple with his teeth, teasing and pulling until it puckered into a tight peak, then sealing his lips over it to suckle, flicking his tongue across the tip. Her back arched, pressing into his caresses. 

He pushed the gown lower, helping her pull her arms free, mouth and hands roaming lower, shoving the offending material out of the way as he went. Reaching her hips, she lifted as he slid the offending material off her legs, then settled between her wide spread thighs. As he ran his hands up her smooth skin, thumbs grazing her moist mound, she stopped him, pulling him up into a deep kiss.

“Need you,” she whispered against his lips, legs coming up to wrap around his waist.

Groaning with matching need, he slid a hand between them, grazing across her breast as he reached to grasp his swollen shaft, fit it to her wet opening, and pressed slowly in. Shifting up onto him, needing this more than she’d known, he started a slow steady rocking into her.

After so long apart it didn’t take much, or long, for them to find release in each other. Sinking back to the bed, he drew her to him, her head resting on his chest as they talked until sleep claimed them both.

Morning found them sitting in the kitchen, breakfast eaten and second cups of coffee being sipped while they talked.

“So, what are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining,” she asked between sips.

“I’ve got time off, I have nowhere I have to be, no one to answer to for a while, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend that time with than you,” he answered, reaching to take her hand.

They sat a bit longer, talking, planning what to do with the time they had—him happy to have a place filled with peace and her; her happy to have him, but wondering what else was going to come up; nothing was ever easy with him.

That evening, supper dishes done, chores finished, and much time spent together talking and sharing, they headed back up the stairs to bed. The night was spent in each other’s arms, loving, touching, just sleeping.

The time passed slowly. She’d go to work during the week, but any time she was home was spent together. He spent the days she was gone indulging in things he didn’t always have time for: long walks, taking photos, reading, playing her old piano. The nights were spent wrapped around each other. Their world had narrowed to a happy place with just the two of them and her pets at the center.

She came down the stairs one morning to the smell of coffee and toast. Not what she’d been expecting; when she went to bed it was just her and the cat in the house. And she was pretty sure the cat wasn’t cooking. That left only one other option; he was there.

Stepping into the doorway, she watched him as he sipped from his cup while reading the paper. Early morning light filled the room and seemed to leave him with a glow from his now-long hair.

“You know,” he said without looking up, “you could always come join me instead of standing in the door. I promise not to bite. Unless you want me to.”

She smiled, grabbing her mug off the counter, filled it, and sat down across from him. Nothing was really different this morning, but it just seemed like there was a tension in the room that she hadn’t felt since he’d arrived this time.

Shrugging it off as just her, they talked, ate, and she left for the office with the taste of his kisses to keep her company through the day.

~tbc


	5. 5-The Storm

Title: The Storm  
Author: Carol (nbula.rising@gmail.com)   
Rating: NC17   
Pairing: Viggo/OFC   
Disclaimer: This is fiction, meant to harm no one, for entertainment only.   
Warnings: Hurt/comfort?   
Beta: The wonderful ~N   
Word Count: 1410   
Archiving: No archiving without permission. 

 

Coming home after a busy day, she was pleased to see that he had dinner already started. The unease she’d felt that morning was forgotten in the happiness of how normal their lives had become.

A week later, sitting at the table, she couldn’t help thinking he was starting to pull away again, that their time was ending. Maybe it was just her imagination; he hadn’t really said or done anything. 

She came home that night to wonderful smells in the kitchen, but no man to be seen. Moving to the front of the house and the stairs to their bedroom, she heard talking from the living room. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help but stop to listen. He sounded unhappy with whatever was being said. Stepping a bit closer, she listened to his side of the conversation, a sinking feeling in her stomach. So it was ending—he was talking about needing to be somewhere else soon, just not how soon.

Turning away, not wanting to hear more, she went to the bedroom—their bedroom, she corrected herself—and changed out of her work clothes and into a simple dress. After running a brush through her hair, she headed down to the kitchen to finish fixing dinner.

She stopped when she got to the door, watching as he bent to take whatever he was making out of the oven. ‘How long do I have left?’ she wondered, before walking over to slide her arms around his waist.

“Hey,” he said, turning in her arms and kissing her nose, “I didn’t hear you come in. How was the day?”

“Not bad,” she said with a soft smile, tipping her chin up for a kiss.

They shared kitchen duties, setting the table, making salad, cleaning up, then settled on the sofa to cuddle and read.

That night they spent making love into the early hours of the morning, trying to gather what little they had left to hold them over until he came home again.

The next morning he finally told her, not knowing that she already knew he was leaving. An offer for something he just couldn’t pass up, a chance to work with someone he respected, doing things he loved. But it meant he’d be gone for he wasn’t sure how long. She nodded, knowing this was going to come sooner or later, just wishing it was always later. She could tell he wasn’t happy to leave her, but he was excited for this new chance to be someone else for a while. And she couldn’t take that away from him, or try to guilt him into staying. This had been the best they’d ever had together since the early days of their relationship.

So after the breakfast dishes were loaded in the dishwasher, she smiled, kissed and hugged him, and left for work, putting on the face she felt he needed to see.

The day seemed to drag, but she managed to keep things in perspective. It wasn’t forever, it wasn’t tragic, no one was going to die; it was work, just like she did every day. His just happened to take him away for long periods of time. But he’d be back, they’d have more good days like they’d been having, and everything would go on.

Driving up to the house that evening, she noticed that there was only the kitchen light on, the house not lit up like it had been with him home. And stepping inside, the place was deathly quiet other than the cat purring around her ankles. No food cooking, no sounds, nothing, like she was alone already. She wasn’t prepared for this; it wasn’t what they’d talked about that morning. She stepped around the table, about to head for the bedroom where she thought he might be when she noticed the basement door was cracked open, just a bit, and light coming up the stairs. And then the pile of clothing folded neatly on a chair with a note on top. A note that simply said “I’m sorry.” Her stomach dropped to somewhere around her knees, and she thought, ‘Not again’.

Setting her things on the table, taking a deep breath, she took off her shoes and jewelry and tied her hair back before turning to the basement door and starting down the stairs.

The door to ‘that’ room was also cracked open and light flooded through the opening. ‘Why now, why when things had been going so well?’ she wondered before pushing the door open to take in the man she loved kneeling on the cold concrete with his hands behind his back and his head bowed, waiting.

She didn’t want to do this, didn’t want the pain it inflicted on them both. But it was something he needed, though why, she had no idea.

Walking around him, she waited, as she always had, for a sign that he was ready to start. On the second pass behind his back she saw it, that little shiver of anticipation. She stopped, glancing around the room to see what he’d set out for his punishment. There, sitting on the dusty table, was the flogger. 

Stepping around to the front of him, she started. Calling him weak, worthless, all the hurt-filled words she hadn’t used in so long, berating him the way she used to, before she thought things had changed for the better.

Ordering him to his feet, she told him to grasp the bar-his bar-in the ceiling and to not let go, to not make a sound. Moving to the table, she picked up the instrument of his punishment, running the cool leather strips through her fingers, letting herself finish settling into the role of punisher and redeemer. 

Stepping silently behind him, she watched his breathing, waiting, then lifted her arm and slashed the leather thongs across his buttocks, waiting a moment to watch him start to flinch away, then settle back to stand waiting for the next blow. And she didn’t make him wait, landing another set of stripes against the other side of his ass. And then letting it all loose. She slashed at him without stopping, letting all her own frustrations and hurt lead her, not saying a word as she purged him of whatever demons he had. 

After what seemed hours, but was in fact only a short time, her arm ached and it was obvious he was at the end of his endurance. Dropping her arm beside her, letting the flogger fall to the floor, she released him, telling him to come, as she always did at the end, and to release the bar. Except this time there was no climax, just a soft sagging to the floor and sobbing.

Stunned at the unexpected end to an old ritual, she dropped to the floor beside him, wrapping him in her arms and soothing his tears.

Carefully helping him to his feet, she guided him up the stairs and through the house to their room, and then to the bathroom. Settling him on the edge of the toilet, she filled the tub, then helped him to settle in the warm water, carefully cleaning away the sweat and tears and easing the ache in his body. Once she was sure he was ready, she helped him from the tub, drying him carefully and applying salve where his skin looked raw or overly tender, then helped him to bed, tucking him in before returning to the bath to drain the tub and clean up.

From there she went back to the basement, put things back where they’d been before all this started, and turned off lights.

Once the house was back to where it had been when she left that morning, she turned back to the bedroom, undressing and crawling under the sheets with him, cradling him in her arms, where he fell asleep. But not her; she lay awake until the early morning, her mind a riot of thought, trying to work out what had happened this time.

When she woke the next morning, late, he was gone. He left no note.

~to be concluded


	6. 6-New Beginnings

Title: New Beginnings  
Author: Carol (Nverland)   
Rating: PG13   
Pairing: Viggo/OFC   
Disclaimer: This is fiction, meant to harm no one, for entertainment only.   
Warnings: Hurt/comfort?   
Beta: The wonderful ~N   
Word Count: 1725   
Archiving: No archiving without permission.   
Summary: Sometimes things that are broken can be made whole again.

 

~4 years later~

“Can you get that?” she yelled from the kitchen at the sound of a knock on the door.

Viggo stood on the stoop, nervous, wondering if he was making a mistake coming back to her after so long, but he had to see her, had to talk this out. He lifted his head to look at the dark door as he heard footsteps coming down the hall, and then he heard a child cry “I gots it, Mom” and considered turning away before it was too late.

Just as he started to turn away the door opened, flooding the front step in light, and a tall man being shadowed by a small girl greeted him.

“Can I help you?” he asked with a deep rich voice, the girl peeking around him.

Viggo turned back, looking up into the light, “I was looking for Mary,” he answered.

“Oh, sure, just a sec, she’s in the kitchen.” But before he could turn to call her, the little girl went running down the hall. “Momma, it’s a man for you,” she yelled.

Momma? So she’d moved on. This has to be her husband, then, he thought sadly.

Before he could make an excuse and step away she was there, little girl sitting on her hip.

“Viggo,” she said quietly. “Well, don’t just stand there, come in. We were just getting ready to eat. Come join us.”

He started to make an excuse, the words not getting a chance to leave his mouth, when the other man, her husband, told him it wouldn’t help to argue and waited while he shrugged and stepped through the door after her.

Dinner passed with listening to the family talk about the day, watching the little girl - Lyssa - play with her food and be teased by her parents, and being asked questions about where he had been and how his family was.

Dinner over, which wasn’t as unpleasant as he’d expected, table cleared, and dishes in the kitchen - “they can wait for morning” - the adults settled in the living room with coffee and watched the active three-year-old play until bedtime.

“So, Viggo, do you have a place to stay tonight?” she asked, watching him over the rim of her cup.

“I… no, not really. I thought I’d see you first, then find somewhere,” he answered, once again feeling uncomfortable being there.

More like he planned on my letting him stay, she thought.

“You’re welcome to stay here. Lyssa can sleep in my room tonight,” she offered.

“Mary, do you really think...’” John started to say.

“Yes, John I do think, quite often. And this is none of your business,” she snapped.

“I was just trying...”

“I know what you were trying, John. I’m a big girl, and I think it’s time for you to go home now. I’ll see you tomorrow at work,” she almost growled.

At the sound of her mother upset, Lyssa stopped what she was doing to watch the adults.

“Come here and give me loves goodnight, Lovely Lyssa. Uncle John is going home now,” he said with a smile for his favorite girl, gathering her up for hugs and kisses before setting her down, telling the other two good night as he walked out the door.

Viggo turned to Mary. “I didn’t want to cause problems… wait… Uncle John? He’s not her father?” he asked, confused.

“No,” she snipped, “he’s a friend.”

Turning to the little dark-haired person standing next to her, Mary gathered her up. “Time for bed for you, Miss Thing. Tell Viggo good night.”

“Night, Viggo,” she yawned.

“Wait here, I’ll be back in a few minutes, once she’s tucked in.”

Viggo sat, head spinning at the sudden change in things. So she wasn’t married, at least not to John, and she was letting him stay. So did that leave him with a chance to make things right? He certainly hoped so.

Several minutes later saw her coming back down the stairs and settling in her chair.

“So, Viggo, what really brought you back here after this long? Certainly you’ve found someone else to fill your needs by now.”

Viggo hung his head. He deserved every bit of this, and more. 

“I needed to see you, to talk to you, to explain what I can, to beg your forgiveness for everything. To see if there’s a way to make everything right,” he answered slowly.

She sat looking at him, trying to collect her emotions. After the first year of his absence this time, she’d given up hope of seeing him again. And now here he sat in her living room, sipping coffee and wanting for fix things. And she wasn’t sure anymore that things were fixable.

As the moments stretched on, he started to fidget a bit. Maybe this wasn’t the best thing to have done. Maybe he should have left things as they were and moved on.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s hear what you have to say. I need to know what you think you want before I can think about ‘us’. I’ve got more than just me to worry about now, and Lyssa deserves better than what I settled for.”

Viggo looked down at his hands, not sure exactly where to start, but she was right. She had settled for what he wanted before, and she did deserve better. They deserved better.

“Let’s start with why, Viggo. Why did you need to be punished?” Maybe that would help them both get this all started.

“I… I didn’t know, then, why. I needed to purge the demons that wouldn’t leave when I left a part behind and how they left me feeling inside. Every time I played someone who was evil, at least in my own mind, I needed help destroying them so I could go back to being me without that person pushing me to be like they were. I needed help and didn’t know how to get it. So I turned to you, the one person I trusted, to help me. I thought if you punished me enough I wouldn’t feel that way anymore, and the feeling would be gone,” he answered without looking up.

“And now? What’s different now? Or did you come back because you needed me to kill your monsters again?”

“No,” he answered strongly, head popping up to stare into her eyes, “no, never again. That’s why I haven’t been back until now. I had to find a different way to help myself. I knew what I was doing to you, and I couldn’t keep doing that to you. I love you too much to keep hurting you.”

Nodding, she sat absorbing this for a minute. This was new. He’d never admitted he loved her before.

“And what do you want from me now? Because I can’t help you anymore, and I’m not sure where that leaves us.”

“I hope it leaves us trying to start over, that we can go back to what we had before I let things try to eat me alive.”

He watched her for a few moments, waiting, then continued.

“I... I got done with the last project I left for and tried to drown the feelings away. Then a good friend scraped me up and arranged for me to visit a doctor to work this whole thing out. I’ve been seeing a good counselor for the last two years, and it’s helped. I can’t say I don’t have days where I still struggle, but I know better ways to handle the problems now than asking someone to beat them out of me.”

They spent the rest of the evening, and well into the early morning, talking until they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer. They walked up the stairs to bed, Viggo turning into Lyssa’s room, Mary into her own. 

She was awakened early the next morning by a bouncing little girl. Yawning, she got up and started the day. An hour later Viggo joined them in the kitchen, just as Lyssa was finishing her breakfast.

“Why don’t you run upstairs and get dressed like a good girl, and then you can play in the garden for a while,” her mother told her, watching as she squirmed out of her chair to kiss Viggo and run out of the room.

Sitting down at the table, Viggo gratefully accepted the steaming cup of coffee and watched while she finished cleaning the kitchen.

“I didn’t ask last night, but where’s her father?” he asked, watching her over the rim of the mug as she sat down with her own cup.

“You really are an idiot, Viggo. You never see the obvious, do you?” she stated a bit bitterly.

“No, I never… she’s mine, isn’t she?” he said, finally admitting that it wasn’t his imagination that she had his eyes, the turn of his nose.

“How could you ever think I’d go to someone else after you?”

“I just never thought, after all the years we were together, that we’d ever have a child. I’m sorry, I’m a fool.”

They were interrupted by the tornado that was their daughter running through the kitchen on her way outside.

The rest of the day, and the next, and next, were spent talking and working towards a possible future for them all. Until it was time for Viggo to leave again, work and other things pulling him away as they always did.

But this time she knew when he came home things would be okay this time. And maybe someday the need to leave would be less than the need to stay, and she was willing to wait for that to happen. Until then she had her work, her home, her daughter, and happy memories to hold her over.

And he knew that no matter where he was, or how hard things were, he had a family who loved him that was there when he went home.

~end


End file.
